


Birds & the Bees

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8310901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo has to work it out for himself, mostly.





	

Kylo doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do. The ‘talk’ he had a million years ago - when he was too young to do anything but have weird dreams and odd reactions to stuff - didn’t make the slightest bit of sense. There was a lot about making sure your partner was happy, some stuff about specific body parts, and a lot about not getting them accidentally pregnant or ill. 

But. You know. No one really taught him how to be in a _relationship_. Or how to interact with someone in a romantic way. All he had to go off was the - ahem - non-too-functional screaming and shouting of his childhood, the holos he remembered seeing, and that was it. 

No one here really did relationships. 

Not that this was one. Or… was it?

They’d spent a lot of time together, over the past few weeks. They’d sort of become friends. By accident, almost. He hadn’t realised - or maybe it hadn’t been at all sexualised - but they’d gotten closer, and he’d become comfortable removing his helmet around her. 

To begin with, it had been a matter of practicality. Training-Kylo was not Fighting-Kylo was not Work-Kylo. She had record scores for multiple hand-to-hand skills, and he’d been intrigued enough to ask for sparring sessions. That had lead to talking (when not trying to force one another into headlocks), and he’d thoroughly enjoyed the physicality of it.

Maybe a bit too much. 

He’d found himself unexpectedly aroused one time, with her straddling him, and he’d thrown her off and backed the hell away. 

She hadn’t mentioned it. So he didn’t bring it up.

But then he’d started to have… flashes. From her. Little flickers of enjoyment, and he wondered if she felt a connection, too.

Hence the offer of a drink one night. Which she’d accepted.

And then dinner. And then more sparring. And then they’d been pinned to a mat, and she’d leaned in and asked if he wanted to kiss her.

He had, after a moment of absolute terror, said the only honest answer to that: yes. Very much so. They’d kissed on the mat, and then she’d climbed off, and nodded at him.

Which was sort of when they’d unofficially become an item? Maybe? He thinks? They kiss and wrestle, and he has a whole heap of interesting fantasies, and they drink and talk and she likes him??? At least a little???

Perhaps a Dark Lord is supposed to just take what he wants. Probably. He’s probably supposed to just slam her into something and spend himself quickly. Or maybe it’s supposed to be psycho-sexual torture. Or something. The Jedi aren’t supposed to get attached, but no one has told him what non-Jedi do with pants feelings. Mostly it’s been get some hand lotion or run for the shower.

But fuck it. She’s smart, she’s fierce, she’s strong, and he doesn’t want to just use her for her body. Even if it’s not love (and it’s probably a puppy love crush, right? Your first isn’t real, is it?), he still respects her far too much to just - **use** her. 

(It is not the White Knight sitting inside him, it is not those Talks. It is not the Light in him. It is just plain decency as a sentient being. Right?)

He starts with dinner. In his rooms. They needed tidying up (read: making more Human than just sterile, dull grey) beforehand, but they still look pretty impersonal and horrid. She attends in what passes for civilian clothing, and he does the same. 

It feels a little staged, and he’s nervous all the way through. She smiles at him, and reaches for his hand.

“What’s wrong?”  


“I just… I just… want to do this right.”  


“No one has ever treated me like this before,” she admits, a little bashful for a change.   


“Well, they should have,” he blurts out. “Because you’re wonderful.”  


The way her whole face lights up fills him with joy. He did that. His words. His _true_ words. She’s a wonderful woman, and he really doesn’t think he’s worthy of her, but maybe he can be almost good enough.

After the meal, they sit and talk for a while. They move over to the couch, and Kylo doesn’t know what the hell to do next. He wants _plenty_ of things (has been unable not to think about them for weeks now), but he needs to know she wants it, too.

She senses his nerves. She can see how he isn’t quite there, and she leans in to kiss up to his ear. “Do you want to take this somewhere more comfortable?”

Fuck, no, that’s even harder to deal with. Where you sit, or lie. When you undress. What you do. His brain sort of shorts out with the possibilities, and he shudders at the feel of her breath so close.

She takes his hand, puts it on her knee. Nods, and waits.

Kylo keeps his hand there as he turns her face towards him for another kiss. His blood is thundering like Force-lightning sparks through his veins, but he shoves down the madness long enough to slide his hand up her thigh. He keeps it there, fingers around the firm muscle. She could crack a man’s neck in half with those legs, and it’s infinitely arousing to consider. 

His thumb slides over the centre seam of her pants. Very, very, very lightly. The kisses start to stagger, as he tries to focus on both at once and occasionally one thing pauses because he’s not as good at multi-tasking as he thinks he is. She strokes her fingers through his hair, trying not to spook him.

He’s easily spooked, but he can feel the warmth in the Force. Can feel the way she grinds gently on the thumb. His hand slides higher, over her stomach, pulling at her shirt and untucking it as the kiss deepens.

It’s weird. Kissing. It’s so weird. There’s tongue and lips and so much to focus on when the kiss gets deeper, and he’s fighting to keep his head above the water and not just explode in frustrated need. He unplucks the shirt and undoes buttons on the way up, pausing until her hand smushes his to her chest in invitation. 

He doesn’t really know what she’ll like, but he over-excitedly squeezes until she yelps and then chides him gently to go slower. He nearly backs away, but she pulls back to see his eyes.

“I’ll guide you,” she offers.

She must know he needs that reassurance, and his fingers swirl around the soft, well-supported breast below the fabric. She tells him in clear words where to stroke harder, and he thumbs at her nipple through the bra.

Phasma suggests maybe they’d like to be a little less dressed?

Oh yes. He would. He pulls off his tunic, leaving his chest bare and pale for her to see. She drops to lick at a nipple, then drags her tongue up over his chest. “You like that?”

“Y-yes.”

“Do it to me.”

And he does. He cups her boob with tender hands, and lifts it to nuzzle and lick and lap. Her moans and fingers on his shoulder urge him on, and he has her holding his face to her before long. Her legs slowly drift apart, and her hand goes between her legs to grind the heel of her palm against her mound. 

Soft encouragement, telling him he’s doing such a good job, such a good job. He blossoms under the praise, and moves her hand aside.

His own dick is ramrod hard, but he has to _not_ go too fast. He remembers _that_. And he knows how fast he can come if he touches himself right, so he needs to counter that. The locker-room jokes he occasionally hears have reinforced that to him, if nothing else.

He wants to _worship_ her, and that means self-denial.

For a bit.

He feels for the shape of her through the cloth, feels the way it gets damper, hotter. Kneads at the soft lips, pressing them together, rolling things around where he can’t see. She’s writhing under his hand, now, and he risks unfastening to push his fingers under the tight snug of fabric to feel her below.

Soft hair. Softer skin. Two fingers hold her labia tight together as a third runs between them. She likes that, and tells him not to stop. There’s the soft, wet feel of her juices making everything a little slippier, and he thinks that’s a good sign. He slides his finger deeper in, and she grabs his shoulders and pulls his hair, and he looks up and asks:

“ _Harder_ , please.”  


She nods, and tugs, and he feels the sharp sting of it like a baptism of fire. He _needs_ it, and he crooks his finger, bends it between the folds and finds somewhere dark and waiting. She kisses at his bent-back neck as he fingers her hole, sliding in to the palm, swirling and testing how she feels.

“I want to taste you,” he says. The smell of her is over-poweringly good.   


“Please,” she says, and shimmies down her clothes.  


He kneels below the couch, and she parts her legs and uses her fingers to spread her lips wide. It’s pink and swollen and bright like he’s kissed her already, and he laps at the slick juices to taste them, getting a moan from her. He licks all around, and when she says _there_ , he finds something nubby under his tongue and worries it, hard. She hisses and kicks him.

“Not so hard!”  


“Sorry,” he says, and laps it more gently. Swirls his tongue around, feeling the way she moves under his attention.   


He shifts so his nose sits there, and pokes out his tongue. Draws around her open hole, flickers it inside. She’s wetter, there, and the juices run down his chin from his open-mouthed slobbering. Hands in his hair hold him still for her to grind, and he eventually taps out for air.

“Where did you learn to do that?” she asks.  


“…the Force?”  


“Can we go to the bed _now,_ or do you need more foreplay?”  


She’s lightly teasing, and he smiles back at her.

“Fine.”  


He’s the one still dressed. He stands, and then her hands are on his belt. He realises he’s nervous about what she’ll think, and he tries not to shake as she unfastens and pushes things down.

Her eyes go wide.

“…bad?”  


“Anything but,” she says. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me.”  


It should sound corny, but it doesn’t. He realises from the blush on her cheeks that she’s nervous, too, and he takes her wrist and gently guides it to his groin.

A shared smile - an unspoken moment knowing the other is just as vulnerable, now - and she starts to trace over his shaft, from balls to tip. It’s nicer with someone else doing it, and he bites his lip to hide the moan.

“C’mon.”  


She gets on the bed, and he crawls up over her. More kisses as he nudges his prick to slide against her curls, just grinding touches to start with. She has her hands in his hair again, kissing him, pulling his face to her chest. 

Kylo licks one nipple. “Can… can I?”

She nods, and he shifts. Their hands touch as they guide him into her, and he moans as her walls take him with his slow, slow push home. All the way in, and he wriggles a bit, getting used to the feeling.

“How… how do you like it?”  


“I’d like it hard,” she admits.   


“…you’ll tell me if I–?”  


She nods.

He trusts her. 

They squirm legs and hips until they’re aligned right, until his thrusts feel good for them both. She grabs the back of his neck and stares into his eyes, her other hand using her palm to grind into her mound, to rub down on her pubic bone. 

He feels an overwhelming sense of _right_. He wants her… but he wants her _happy_. He knows her happiness is as important as (if not more important than) his own. 

And he knows she’s not weak. She’s not needing his protection. But he wants to give it, all the same. Wants to make her feel good, any way he can. Maybe it is love. It’s certainly like it, like how he… remembers. Even if that was a different kind, and this one is driven by a need to worship, cherish, protect.

(He’s never been too far from the Light.)

The angle isn’t great for heavy and hard, so he pulls her to the end of the bed. She wraps around him, sitting more upright, and he slams up and up and up and then smashes her down into the bed again. 

It turns feral. Not nasty, but feral. Hands and legs as they both try to achieve that plateau, and he jabs two fingers to her split-wide lips. Finds her clit and worries it, and then she’s screaming and thrashing and for a moment? Is he doing it wrong? Should he do something else? But then he realises it’s working, and he slams into her with every last bit of strength he has.

She comes, her walls clutching him. It’s enough to send him over the edge, and he calls out her name as he spills in her, shuddering and sticky and broken.

They collapse into a heap, and he’s pleased he got her there. He’d really worried. He had. He’d worried he wouldn’t manage it, but she’s soft-limbed and slack, smiling and curled around him. She starts to laugh, and he feels the tiniest one of his own echo hers.

“That… was good,” she enthuses.  


“So… we can do it again?”  


“Oh, you _count on it_ ,” she purrs, and wriggles around him.  


Fuck. Fuck yes.


End file.
